So tell me who ’tis like—
The very Brow—the stooping eyes—
A fog for—Say—Whose Sake?
The very Pattern of the Cheek—
It varies—in the Chin—
But—Ishmael—since we met—’tis long—
And fashions—intervene—
When Moon’s at full—’Tis Thou—I say—
My lips just hold the name—
When crescent—Thou art worn—I note—
But—there—the Golden Same—
And when—Some Night—Bold—slashing Clouds
Cut Thee away from Me—
That’s easier—than the other film
That glazes Holiday—
But our unfurnished eyes—
I’d give—I’d give my life—of course—But that is not enough!Stop just a minute—let me think!I’d give my biggest Bobolink!That makes two—Him—and Life!You know who ‘June’ is—I’d give her—Roses a day from Zanzibar—And Lily tubes—like Wells—Bees—by the furlong—Straits of BlueNavies of Butterflies—sailed thro’—And dappled Cowslip Dells—Then I have ‘shares’ in Primrose ‘Banks’—Daffodil Dowries—spicy ‘Stocks’—Dominions—broad as Dew—Bags…
But doom me not to forfeit Thee—To forfeit Thee? The very nameIs sentence from Belief—and House—
‘Tis frequently the Way—Surpasses all that rose before—For utter Jubilee—As Nature did not care—And piled her Blossoms on—And further to parade a JoyHer Victim stared upon—The Birds declaim their Tunes—Pronouncing every wordLike Hammers—Did they know they fellLike Litanies of Lead—On here and there—a creature—They’d modify the GleeTo fit some Crucifixal Clef—Some Key of Calvary—
But You have enough—of those—I could bring You Odors from St. Domingo—Colors—from Vera Cruz—Berries of the Bahamas—have I—But this little BlazeFlickering to itself—in the Meadow—Suits Me—more than those—Never a Fellow matched this Topaz—And his Emerald Swing—Dower itself—for Bobadilo—Better—Could I bring?
What care the Dead for Day?‘Tis late your Sunrise vex their face—And Purple Ribaldry—of MorningPour as blank on themAs on the Tier of WallThe Mason builded, yesterday,And equally as cool—What care the Dead for Summer?The Solstice had no SunCould waste the Snow before their Gate—And knew One Bird a Tune—Could thrill their Mortised EarOf all…
